


why can't you imagine a world like that?

by corsicana



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, First Kiss, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corsicana/pseuds/corsicana
Summary: There was one time, though, when Dimitri hurt Sylvain. They were playing knights, and Dimitri’s crest had activated, knocking Sylvain over. It caused a nasty wound on the shoulder that broke his fall. Dimitri had tried his best to treat the wound with the supplies Sylvain brought, which wasn’t all that well. Dimitri himself wasn’t all too pleased with his handiwork, but there was suchcareto it. Something he said then rings in Sylvain’s head when he wakes up: “Mother says a little love heals all wounds.”As though Sylvain was still innocent enough to believe in that. Yet it stays with him, because—because—why? Does he still want it to be true? Is it the implication that Dimitri loved him? Is it the wish that Dimitristillloves him?All stupid thoughts.Or: Sylvain has long since decided that love, in both its absence and presence, is the most painful thing. That doesn't stop him from wanting it.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Glenn Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	why can't you imagine a world like that?

Sylvain never lets anyone spend the night with him. Best case scenario, his partner never sets foot in his room in the first place. Living the way he does, there’s a pointed amount of caution that needs to be taken to protect himself and his privacy. Nevermind the amount of trust it takes to let someone into his space, to fall asleep and wake up beside them.

Still—each time Sylvain wakes up alone, the bed seems just a little too cold, a little too big. There’s a certain pain—a strange dissonance—that comes with having so much intimacy with others, yet so little. 

There was just no winning with that sort of thing, though. It hurt whether the important people cared about him or not. His mother and father hardly had time for parenting with rebellion from Sreng always looming, with all the discord Miklan harmonized, with their own crumbling marriage. Maybe that’s why Miklan turned out that way; maybe that’s why Sylvain turned out this way. 

Sylvain dreams about his childhood often. Visits where he, Ingrid, Dimitri, and Felix were together were few and far between, what with all of Dimitri’s royal obligations, all the travelling, how hard it was to synchronize calendars. Still, they were all more of a family than Sylvain’s blood. Glenn and Felix, especially, given that Fraldarius territory is right next to Gautier’s, visited most of all. 

If Felix was Sylvain’s younger brother, someone to take care of, then Glenn was Sylvain’s older brother. Sylvain’s _actual_ older brother, nothing like Miklan. Even after all these years, Sylvain remembers well the dangerous little glint in Glenn’s eye whenever he orchestrated some sort of mischief with them, be it raiding the kitchens or going much too far into the woods playing knights. 

Most of all, Sylvain remembers how Glenn would ruffle his hair whenever Glenn was proud of him, like when he managed to snag Glenn’s favorite food during a kitchen raid. Sylvain remembers how Glenn would always somehow _know_ when Sylvain got hurt when they were playing knights, no matter how he tried to hide it. Glenn would know just how to take care of him. He wasn’t great at healing magic, probably having only learned it for emergencies, but it always smoldered warm and gentle through Sylvain’s veins. Looking back on it, Glenn had no reason to even use healing magic on those tiny bumps and scrapes Sylvain got. Gauze would have worked just fine, but Glenn expended his energy anyway. 

Then, of course, Glenn dies. And Sylvain has no right to grieve for him like Felix and Ingrid do, maybe not even as much as Dimitri. Dimitri watched it happen, after all. Maybe Glenn even died protecting him. Sylvain doesn’t know; Dimitri won’t talk about it. 

Maybe Glenn wasn’t blood family, but he was still _family_. And with that one death, Sylvain may as well have lost his entire family. They all change afterward; a distance forms. Felix stops showing his skin, throwing himself into training constantly, as though he could protect Glenn after the fact. Ingrid locks herself in her room for months and comes out with an intense need to fix every little issue, as though the ruin that has been placed upon her family is something she can repair. And Dimitri—maybe Dimitri doesn’t change so much outwardly, but Sylvain sees the strain in his every word, the rigidness to his posture, as though one wrong move will make the world fall apart again. 

If he’d never loved Glenn, if he’d never loved them, it would never have hurt like this. 

Loneliness is hard to bear. But just as a child fears fire after being burnt once, Sylvain shies away from heat altogether. An imitation will have to do. And even if it doesn’t, at least its scars heal, as opposed to leaving burns that will forever mar his body.

There’s always this sad little glint in Dimitri’s eyes as he murmurs, “Don’t you see that you’re hurting them, too?”

The _too_ stings. Dimitri is all too similar to and all too different from Sylvain. Where Sylvain overcompensates for his loneliness, Dimitri goes the opposite way, putting up far too many walls and maintaining his distance however possible. It makes sense that he would see through Sylvain, but that doesn’t make the accusation any less nauseating.

So Sylvain laughs it off. “Nobody’s hurting anyone, Your Highness.” Lie. “It’s just a little bit of fun, you know. A little bit of no-strings-attached stress relief. Something you could stand to partake in, might I add.” Deflect. “I’ve noticed that you’ve broken quite a few quills in lecture lately, after all. I’m sure Professor’s running out by now.”

Dimitri blushes bright red at that one. Good. If he’s embarrassed, he’ll probably end the conversation early. “That has nothing to do with this, Sylvain. I assure you I take proper care of myself. Should I fail to do so, Dedue is quite… persistent.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Tell that to those poor quills. Really, though, you should join me when I go out on the town sometime. I’ll help you snag someone you like, yeah?” 

It’s hardly a genuine invitation. Sylvain knows Dimitri would never accept, much less actually try to score a woman. As expected, Dimitri heaves a sigh, shaking his head as he says, “I’m not so sure about that, Sylvain,” before bidding Sylvain his farewell. 

A few days later, though, Sylvain’s surprised by a knock at his door that turns out to be Dimitri. Sylvain masks it quickly. “Your Highness! To what do I owe this pleasure? I don’t believe I’m up for another lecture for a few days, right?” Dimitri rarely seeks him out at all, much less outside of a group setting.

“I am not here for a lecture, Sylvain,” Dimitri says, wearily. “Do you really think I only seek out your company simply to lecture you?” Sylvain has to bite back a _yes_. “If so, I must admit that I have been a poor friend as of late. That behooves me all the more to make this request, then. I was wondering if you would allow me to accompany you, ah, on the town, as you say.”

Sylvain blinks. Dimitri must take it as a rejection, because he starts speaking again, something to the effect of _oh, I don’t wish to impose_ , before Sylvain waves his hand dismissively. “I never thought I’d see the day, You Highness! Of course you can come with. I’ll be sure to find you a lady first, alright? Can’t leave you high and dry, after all.”

Dimitri crosses his arms. “You would insist on partaking in that behavior even with me accompanying you? Can we not simply spend an evening together?”

Ah. That makes more sense, although just a little. Sylvain’s burning with the desire to ask why Dimitri’s suddenly so interested in his company, but it’s hardly a comfortable subject for either of them. “Sure, I suppose. You know, there’s this great tea shop Annette and Mercedes told me about that’s open late. You’d probably like it, yeah?”

Dimitri perks up. “Yes, I believe that would be agreeable. Were you busy? I don’t mind waiting.”

“Nah, I was just going to go out anyway. Just gimme a minute and we can go, okay?” Sylvain steps back a little bit to let Dimitri into his room, but Dimitri just nods, standing there awkwardly. Sylvain rolls his eyes. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in and sit down. I don’t mind.”

The only real place to sit is either at Sylvain’s desk, which is where Sylvain has to scrounge around for his things, or his bed, which Sylvain didn’t really think about. Not like it’s a big deal, though, so Sylvain just gestures to his bed. Dimitri hesitates for just a second before sitting down on it. For some reason, the sight makes Sylvain’s falter for a moment, but he forces his gaze away as he gets his coat off his desk chair and finds his bag in just a minute or two. Not like it’s a big deal. It’s just… someone on his bed, making the room feel a little less lonely, a little more lived in. Like—

“Okay, ready,” Sylvain says decisively. Not going to give credence to those thoughts. “Let’s go?”

Dimitri hops off Sylvain’s bed. Sylvain still won’t look at him. “Lead the way.”

The walk to the tea shop isn’t so far—just a few minutes outside the central marketplace. Still, it’s far enough for the silence to weigh heavy on Sylvain’s shoulders, so he chatters on about the stupidest of things, like how sky watch with Ingrid went (bad) or how he found this amazing manuscript in the library. For all of Dimitri’s awkwardness, the conversation doesn’t stall, even though Dimitri doesn’t speak half as much as Sylvain. He’s clearly paying attention, smiling and nodding at the right points, and it’s… nice. Nothing like the girls Sylvain spends time with, who constantly circumvent the topic back around to them or marriage or sex, if they even pay attention to the conversation at all.

If the weight of silence is oppressive, the weight of that realization is splintering. Sylvain’s almost glad when they get to the tea shop and he has an excuse to suddenly stop talking under the guise of looking at the menu, even though he’s been here countless times. Dimitri doesn’t comment on that. 

The tea shop is especially quiet today, probably because it’s a weekday, making it all the more intimate. Dimitri orders chamomile, which Sylvain should have expected, and Sylvain orders his usual bergamot. After they sit, Sylvain stares down at his cup for a minute, wracking his brain for something—anything—to say, when Dimitri clears his throat. “I must admit I had an ulterior motive for asking to accompany you out tonight.”

Ah. So there it is. Sylvain forces a smile onto his face, going as far as to wink. “And what might that be? Did you realize you had unquellable feelings for me, Your Highness?”

Dimitri huffs out a laugh, so quiet Sylvain almost misses it. “Nothing of the sort, I assure you. I simply noticed that you’ve been—acting concerningly, lately. Since before I last spoke to you about your, ah, activities, even. Ingrid was worried, as was Felix, although he didn’t say that in so many words.”

Sylvain cups his hands around his teacup. It’s hot enough to scald. “Oh, you know they’re worrywarts. I don’t know where they’re getting that from, Your Highness, though I do appreciate the concern.”

Dimitri hums noncommittally. “Is that so? Ingrid said she’s had to fend off more women than she’s ever had to before. I understand that we are not… the closest, but I thought that perhaps that distance would make it easier to discuss your troubles.”

Sylvain has to remove his hand from his teacup. The heat stings, a pleasant reminder as he waves his hand dismissively. “There’s nothing wrong, Your Highness,” he says, voice a little steelier. 

“If you insist.” Dimitri takes a cautious sip of his tea. “Well, do know that I am here for you if need be. I know it is… difficult, to not feel as though you can turn to anyone.”

Sylvain bites the inside of his cheek hard enough that he swears he can taste blood. The conversation for the rest of the night is a little off, a little stilted.

Later, when Sylvain lets himself back into his room and collapses on the bed—he wishes, but for what?

He dreams about Dimitri that night. Dimitri was a delicate kid, always a little too cautious, and Sylvain always had to cajole him into anything with the slightest risk, be it play-fighting or approaching the edge of the woods. Predictably, whenever Dimitri got hurt, it was usually because of Sylvain pressuring him to do something that, really, he probably shouldn’t have done. Sylvain’s parents didn’t care for him learning healing magic, since healing magic wasn’t going to help hold back any future Srengi invasion. Because of that, if Glenn was there, he was always the one to heal Dimitri. If not, Sylvain did the best he could with gauze and healing herbs.

There was one time, though, when Dimitri hurt Sylvain. They were playing knights, and Dimitri’s crest had activated, knocking Sylvain over. It caused a nasty wound on the shoulder that broke his fall. Dimitri had tried his best to treat the wound with the supplies Sylvain brought, which wasn’t all that well. Dimitri himself wasn’t all too pleased with his handiwork, but there was such _care_ to it. Something he said then rings in Sylvain’s head when he wakes up: “Mother says a little love heals all wounds.”

As though Sylvain was still innocent enough to believe in that. Yet it stays with him, because—because—why? Does he still want it to be true? Is it the implication that Dimitri loved him? Is it the wish that Dimitri _still_ loves him?

All stupid thoughts. It doesn’t help that Dimitri starts sticking by his side more, just shy of overbearing. They start taking care of their horses together, grooming and feeding them in the early morning. The connection they have then threatens liminality, most of all when their hands brush as one of them passes the horse’s comb to the other or when Dimitri laughs at one of the horses rebuffing Sylvain. What is it bordering on, though?

They ride out by themselves once or twice. It’s always too early for words, dawn peaking over the horizon, but neither of them seem to need them from the other. Light glances over Dimitri’s face as he smiles at nothing, or maybe everything. It’s a tiny smile, one that fails to hide the depth of his happiness. 

Dimitri never comments on that Sylvain watches him. Sylvain never comments on that Dimitri watches him. What is _that_ bordering on?

It’s not smothering, but Sylvain almost wishes it was, because liking Dimitri by his side is almost too much. _Do you still love me?_ lies thick on Sylvain’s tongue with every word they exchange and every word they don’t.

But of course Dimitri doesn’t love him. Both of them stopped loving after the Tragedy. It’s just a matter of how they pretend otherwise. 

Everyone else seems to think differently, because Ingrid stops him on the way back to his dorm one day, telling him, “You know, I’m proud of you.”

“Oh? I didn’t expect this.” Sylvain grins. “I can think of countless reasons why you would be, but, please, do tell me why.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “You’ve really cleaned up your act. I was worried, after that spike a while back, but it looks like you’re finally respecting yourself. You’re helping His Highness a lot, too, you know. You both seem a lot happier.”

Huh. Has he cleaned up his act? “Please. His Highness can take care of himself. I doubt I’m having any influence on him.”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “You two have been inseparable lately, and, coincidentally, you’ve both been much happier. Do you really think there’s no connection?”

Sylvain shrugs. “I’m sure His Highness has reasons to be happy other than me.”

“Come on, Sylvain. Take credit for something good for once in your life. It’s just… After—after Glenn, you both put such distance between yourself and others. And I’m just glad that you’re finally finding solace in one another.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Ingrid,” Sylvain quips. “Look, I gotta go, okay? I have an appointment with the Professor.”

Ingrid frowns, clearly not believing his lie. “There’s nothing wrong with being lonely, Sylvain,” she says, but Sylvain is already walking away. Hardly his most graceful exit, but this is hardly the easiest situation to be in, either. 

Sylvain finds himself back in his room, locking the door behind him as he enters, and lies down face-first on the bed. _There’s nothing wrong with being lonely._ As if he would ever admit that he was lonely to anyone. Besides, him and Dimitri finding solace in one another—what a joke that is! Maybe it’s true now, but it won’t last. It couldn’t. Especially not for someone like Sylvain.

Some time later, there’s a knock at the door, but Sylvain doesn’t dignify it with a reply. Undeterred, Dimitri’s voice floats through the door. “Sylvain? Ingrid told me you seemed… upset.” Of course she did. “Would you let me in?”

Sylvain wants to say no. He really does. What he ends up doing is opening the door anyway, much to Dimitri’s evident surprise. “Dunno what Ingrid told you, but if you want to come in, you’re free to,” Sylvain says, flippant.

Dimitri sighs as Sylvain steps aside to let Dimitri in, closing the door behind him. “You must know that I find that hard to believe, Sylvain.”

Ah. No dice, then. “Worth a shot?” Sylvain tries as he sits at his desk.

Dimitri fixes him with a withering look that he must have learned from Felix. It’s far too familiar to not be. He glances at the bed, then, asking, “May I?”

“No need to be so polite, Your Highness.”

“I could say the same for you, Sylvain. I’ve told you countless times to just call me Dimitri.”

Sylvain makes a show of thinking it over. “Nah.”

“I thought as much.” Dimitri shakes his head. “Anyway, that is not why I am here. Like I mentioned, Ingrid told me you seemed upset when she spoke to you earlier. I know I have offered a listening ear in the past, but I thought I would reiterate the offer, should you wish.”

“Do I seem lonely?” The words tumble out of Sylvain’s mouth before he even thinks them through. 

Dimitri hesitates. “Sometimes, yes. Ingrid, Felix, and myself have known you since childhood—it is hard to not notice the difference between now and then. Of course, I do not claim that I have not changed, either. And that makes it… difficult, sometimes. But that does not negate that I—we—still care and notice these things, Sylvain.” 

“I’m not lonely,” Sylvain mutters, a little bitter, a little too defensive.

“There is nothing wrong with being lonely,” Dimitri murmurs in return. He and Ingrid are starting to sound like a broken record. “But there is everything wrong with… condemning yourself to loneliness as you do. I know we have all had our difficulties, but we all love you very much, Sylvain. And we would not wish you to be lonely.”

Sylvain swallows. _Do you still love me?_ “I dunno where you’re getting all that from, Your Highness. I’m as happy as can be, you know?” He flashes a grin that is maybe a little strained. The best he can manage. 

Dimitri looks like he wants to say something, but whatever it is, he bites it back. “If you insist, Sylvain. I apologize for overstepping.”

“Not a worry,” Sylvain tells him, smile relaxing a little. “Now, I hate to cut our time short, but I promised I’d meet a lovely lady in town soon, so I’m afraid I have to go.”

Dimitri’s expression darkens ever-so-slightly. Sylvain tries to ignore the way it makes his guts twist. “Ah, of course. I will take my leave, then.” He hesitates at the doorway, looking back at Sylvain for a moment too long, before saying, “Have a good day, Sylvain.”

Later that night, Sylvain wonders what would have happened if either of them were just a little braver. But there’s no time to find out, because Remire Village happens all too soon after, then the war, then—then Dimitri dies.

Sylvain’s love for him, too, has its retribution.

/ * \

Dimitri’s ghost haunts Sylvain for five years, and then Dimitri himself haunts Sylvain for months after. Dimitri speaks of the dead as though they were alive; and, well, maybe they are. They certainly are for Sylvain in the forms of Glenn, of Dimitri, of their shared childhood.

Sylvain wants to talk to Dimitri. He should. But something stops him every time he starts walking to the cathedral, every time they’re marching to and from a battle site. Is it the fear of what might have been lost? The fear that nothing was lost? Something else altogether?

Whatever it is, his mind constantly returns to the memory of Dimitri bandaging him up, not to mention when Dimitri murmured, as he killed that first thief in the Red Canyon, _it never gets easier._

Certainly seems easier now, doesn’t it? Dimitri’s eyes are hollow as he snarls _don’t struggle_ and kills his enemies, devoid of that gentle remorse of their Academy days. And no matter how much Sylvain hates seeing what Dimitri has become, he hates the thought of never seeing him return to his old self again much more. 

The professor is exiting the cathedral as Sylvain enters. The air is murky with dusk, but Sylvain doesn’t miss the meaningful gaze she sends his way as he enters. She doesn’t say anything, though, or make any attempt to stop him. Maybe she knows that this is something Sylvain needs to do, no matter what. 

Dimitri is standing before the rubble, muttering something to himself. Sylvain makes out the name _Glenn_ , the word _her_ dripping with anger. “Your Highness,” he says as he walks up, announcing his presence, still keeping a fair distance. It’s the only protection he has. “You can’t—you can’t think that Glenn would want such bloodshed. Do you not remember when—”

“Silence,” Dimitri hisses. “What do you know of the dead’s wants? Death changes them, and they never have a chance to act on their newly-found desires. Only I can do that.”

“You think _Glenn_ would ever want you to do—this? He would run himself ragged healing us whenever we got some stupid injury playing knights, instead of telling us to grin and bear it. Glenn was too kind for—”

“You know nothing,” Dimitri spits. “Glenn was shown no kindness when he died. You think he would show kindness to _her_ , in spite of that?”

Sylvain blinks at him. “I do,” he says, voice steely. “And if you think he wouldn’t, you didn’t know Glenn at all.”

Dimitri fixes him with such a bloodthirsty, furious look that, for a terrifying moment, Sylvain thinks he may have just dug his own grave. But Dimitri does not move. “I see that even you, Sylvain, do not have a hope of understanding. You had best leave now, while I still let you.”

Sylvain swallows. No matter how many times he looks over his shoulder as he leaves the cathedral, he never catches Dimitri looking back. 

When Rodrigue dies, both Felix and Dimitri lock themselves in their rooms. Sylvain hears both of them crying at night. Sylvain breaks into Felix’s dorm on the third day of this (thanks to Ashe teaching him some lockpicking skills), and although Felix’s eyes flash with anger as Sylvain swings open the door, it’s mitigated by his red-rimmed eyes, his unkempt hair, and the state of his room.

“Get out of here,” Felix mutters without heat. “I don’t want to—I don’t want to see you.”

“That’s too bad,” Sylvain says bluntly. “You need—”

“You don’t know what I _need_ ,” Felix hisses. “What do you know of how I’m feeling?”

“That you’re upset,” Sylvain guesses. “And angry that you’re upset. And that you really don’t know how to feel.” Felix’s eyes narrow into slits. Sylvain takes it as confirmation. “That’s okay, you know. It was—the same with Miklan.”

Felix’s anger settles to a simmer, then. Sylvain lets him take his time, and, eventually, he weakly says, “I… hated him so much, Sylvain. But this feels so similar to when—to when—”

“I know, Felix,” Sylvain says softly, sitting beside Felix on the bed. “Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, you know? Sometimes you can’t escape it.”

“I wanted to,” Felix replies, strangled.

“I know.” Sylvain doesn’t acknowledge the tears running down Felix’s face. It’s the first time Felix has cried in front of him since they were kids. “But it’s gonna hurt no matter what, you know?” Sylvain murmurs, a realization even to himself. “And I think—I think trying to love has more reward than hate.” At least when he loved someone, he had that happiness to carry him through their death, but when he hated them, it just… magnified the grief. 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Felix mutters without bite.

“Don’t I know it,” Sylvain sighs. “Yeah, I guess I might as well try to make the best of the things I have. Look, Ingrid and the rest of the Lions have been worried about you. You wanna get some fresh air, come to the dining hall? They’re serving your favorite.”

Felix doesn’t reply for a long while, and Sylvain thinks it’s a no. Eventually, Felix sighs, wiping his eyes and standing up from the bed. “Fine. But you’re letting me steal from your plate.”

“Anything for you, Felix,” Sylvain quips, and Felix rolls his eyes half-heartedly.

/ * \

Dimitri leaves his room a changed man, and in the coming days, Sylvain’s singular, strangled thought is _Goddess, I still love him_. It’s not a shock, not after all these years. No, it just makes sense. But so what? It’s much too late, not to mention Dimitri’s status—it would never lead anywhere.

So Sylvain carries on as he was. But every time he so much as looks at a woman, Dimitri’s voice echoes in his head: _there is everything wrong with condemning yourself to loneliness_. So he doesn’t take it any further. Instead, he finds himself spending that extra time with the Lions, most of all Felix, Ingrid, and, of course, Dimitri.

It’s strange—one would think facing even more loss would split them further, and yet, the war has somehow brought them even closer. Although Felix still has a wicked tongue when it comes to Dimitri, it’s obvious that he’s beginning to trust Dimitri again, just a little bit. Ingrid, too, is beginning to relax a little on her overbearing nature, as though seeing each of them handle such strife has proven to her that she doesn’t have to handle the burden alone. 

There’s little joy to be found in war, but they find it in each other.

/ * \

Everyone hears Cornelia tell Dimitri that he was unloved by the only mother he ever knew. It strikes a tad too familiar with Sylvain. Dimitri’s face contorts in anguish that is soon replaced with anger; Sylvain swears his heart beats in time with Dimitri’s, then.

Dimitri is presented to the population that evening. He must hardly have time to think about what Cornelia said, and Sylvain has even less time to steal him away to check on him. It’s late, in the middle of the night, after an emergency meeting regarding Claude’s request for aid, that Sylvain finally manages to take a moment of Dimitri’s time. 

“Your Highness,” Sylvain calls after him as they’re returning back to their rooms. “Do you have a moment?”

Dimitri turns at his voice. “Sylvain? Of course. What do you need?”

“I just—” He hesitates. It sounded so much smoother in his head. “I just… wanted to talk to you about what Cornelia said earlier. About your mother. See if you were okay, you know.”

“Ah.” A shadow passes over Dimitri’s face. “I will not lie and say it did not affect me, but I assure you, I am holding up. Thank you for your concern, Sylvain. It means a lot to me.”

Sylvain frowns. That reply was all too clinical. “You sure? I know it’s late, but if you wanted to, you know, actually talk about it, I don’t mind.”

Dimitri’s lips twitch, holding back a smile. “So our roles have reversed, have they?”

Sylvain holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I never claimed to not be a hypocrite. Just offering.”

“No, I… I believe I would like that. Come, I believe the professor gave me some of her extra bergamot when we last had tea. I suppose it’s coming in handy now.” Of course Dimitri would remember his favorite tea. He gestures for Sylvain to follow him.

Dimitri’s quarters are hardly as pristine as the last time Sylvain saw them, but it’s to be expected—they only just took back Fhirdiad. Sylvain’s surprised he has this many of his things in the castle, at this point. 

“Sit,” Dimitri says, gesturing at the table and chairs. “I’ll make you some tea.”

“Hey, you’re the king. I should be the one—”

“Nonsense,” Dimitri chides. “You’re offering a listening ear. It’s the least I could do.” 

Sylvain sits down with an exaggerated huff, knowing Dimitri won’t be deterred. “If that’s a direct command from His Highness, I suppose I’ll have to listen.”

Dimitri laughs, low and quiet. It’s beautiful. “That it is.” 

The tea brews quickly. Dimitri places it in front of Sylvain and sits down across from him, averting his eyes. “I’m afraid I’m not sure where to start,” Dimitri says. “There is… much to say, and so few ways to say it adequately.”

“You know I’m the last person to judge.”

“Ah, I do. I don’t fear that.” Dimitri smiles, a little strained. “I suppose I simply… fear what direction my own thoughts will take. I don’t remember my stepmother well at all, you see. And now I fear I will corrupt her memory unjustly. I wish to believe that she loved me, but a child is so easily deceived. And of course idealism will bleed into those memories as well.”

“I think you would know, Dimitri,” Sylvain says carefully. It seems wrong to put distance between them by using _Your Highness_. “I mean—I knew who loved me and who didn’t, even as a kid. Cornelia had every reason to lie to you, too. And even if she didn’t lie to you, does it matter? You’re not—you shouldn’t condemn yourself to thinking you’re unlovable just because one person may not have. You have—you have so many people who love you now, you know.”

Dimitri takes a sip of his tea. It must be scalding, but he does so anyway. “I suppose.” Then, with a chuckle, he adds, “You sound like me, all those years ago. Do you remember? When you asked me if you seemed lonely?”

Oh, does he. “Well, it applies to you, too.” Sylvain shrugs. 

Dimitri smiles ever-so-slightly. “Thank you, my friend.” He pauses a moment. “If I may ask, I know you struggled with similar things in your own family. How did you…”

“How did I cope?” Sylvain finishes for him. Dimitri nods. “Well, you saw me during our Academy days. Before then, it was—well—it was you, Ingrid, Felix, and Glenn. But you know what happened to that.”

“Ah.” Dimitri stares down into his cup. “I am… sorry, that we all drifted apart when we all needed one another most, especially you. I did not think of—”

“Nothing to be done about it now, Dimitri,” Sylvain tells him truthfully. “Do you think I hold a grudge about it?”

“Do you not?”

“Dimitri,” Sylvain half-laughs. “Of course I don’t. It was just—a bad situation. There was nothing we could have done about it then, either.”

“If you insist,” Dimitri murmurs at length. “I am glad that I reached out to you back then. We may not be sitting here now if I had not, and I would regret that most of all.”

Sylvain can only nod.

/ * \

Edelgard almost kills Dimitri when he tries to spare her. Sylvain watches it happen, swears his heart stops as Dimitri is stabbed, that it starts beating again when Dimitri moves in spite of it.

The professor stops him from looking back at Edelgard’s corpse, and for that, Sylvain is grateful. Dimitri should not constantly bear the burden of looking back; he should only bear the lightness of looking forward. Sylvain mouths _thank you_ to her as they all walk out. She nods in acknowledgement. It’s for more than just keeping him looking forward. She must know that.

Contrary to all the Lions’ effort, Dimitri refuses to rest in the coming days. “I have a duty,” he insists, and nobody can deny him that. Still, Sylvain refuses to leave his side, making sure he doesn’t overexert himself.

With the end of the war comes a bitter nostalgia—a remembrance of all who have been lost, all those who won’t see the future they’ve carved. They talk about everything and nothing. It’s a slew of “Do you remember when we were kids, when Glenn taught us each how to swordfight?” or “Do you remember when you had to hide in my room because you flirted too well with that girl?” or “Do you remember when we played hide and seek and we couldn’t find Ingrid for hours?”

Eventually, it must come to this: “Do you remember,” Sylvain asks, mouth dry, “when you said you loved me as a kid?”

Dimitri doesn’t even blink. “Of course. Do you remember when you said you loved me?”

Sylvain has to take a second. “I did?”

“You don’t remember? It’s a fleeting memory, but still one of my fondest.” Dimitri smiles at him across the stack of papers he’s reading—something about noble titles in the Imperial territory. “You were visiting Fhirdiad with your family on official business, but neither the Galatea nor the Fraldarius families could make time, so it was just us. You were being trained in lances by one of the castle staff, but I refused to join in because I was afraid of hurting the dummies. It was frustrating the trainer, and you said—”

 _Ah._ “I said that it was okay, ‘cause I would protect you with my life, so it was okay if you didn’t learn how to fight. And you asked me why, and I told you it was because I loved you.”

Dimitri chuckles. “As though a future king could simply neglect to learn combat. It was a touching thought, however, to think that you cared not out of a sense of loyalty, but for me personally.”

“Well, duh,” Sylvain says, before he can think better of it. “Have you ever known me to be blindly loyal?”

Dimitri smiles at him. It’s filled with a fondness that has Sylvain’s mouth turning dry. “Nonetheless, it is a special memory. It is… something to treasure, that kind of long-lasting love.”

“Long-lasting?” Sylvain asks at length, trying not to let hope leak into his voice. It doesn’t mean what he wants it to mean. He just has to confirm as much.

Dimitri does falter at that. “Do you think I do not still love you, Sylvain?”

“I mean—” Sylvain bites the inside of his cheek. “We all changed after Glenn. Especially me. I don’t expect that anyone would still—”

“Nonsense. Of course I still love you, Sylvain. I would not expect that anyone would love me, after all I’ve done, but you—”

“No, nope,” Sylvain interrupts him. “If I’m worthy of love, then you are. And don’t tell me your hands are stained with blood, because so are mine, Dimitri.”

Dimitri looks like he wants to argue, but, instead, he simply says, “I suppose that is true.” Then, a little strained: “Thank you, Sylvain.”

“Do you—not believe me?”

“It is not that,” Dimitri hedges. “I believe that you would not lie to me about such things. It is just—difficult, sometimes, to internalize. The professor has said much the same thing, but it will be a long road to believing it myself.”

“I’ll walk it with you,” Sylvain tells him. “As long as it takes.”

Dimitri smiles at him, soft yet more genuine than any other. He repeats: “Thank you, Sylvain.”

Later, when the moon has climbed high into the sky and they’re both yawning, Sylvain gets up to return to his own quarters. “I’ll see you tomorrow. You’d better actually go to bed once I leave, okay?” Dimitri doesn’t reply for a moment too long. “Dimitri?”

In the candlelight, Sylvain can see Dimitri swallow before he turns to Sylvain. “I would wish to ask for forgiveness in advance, should I have misinterpreted, but I—when you said you would walk this path with me, what exactly did you mean by that?”

Sylvain’s palms sweat. “Well—that I’ll stay by your side for as long as you’ll have me.” It’s flowery language, all too _obvious_ , all too like what he would say to all the women of forever ago. 

So, of course, Dimitri picks up on it. “Sylvain,” he says, gently and slowly, as though to a skittish animal. “Again, forgive me if I’m overstepping, but may I—may I kiss you?”

“You always could have,” Sylvain whispers, strangled. Dimitri huffs out a laugh before standing, looming over Sylvain as he cups Sylvain’s chin, leaning in and finally, blessedly kissing him. It’s slow and chaste, hardly anything Sylvain is used to. Dimitri is taking his time, cherishing him, as he runs a thumb gently over Sylvain’s cheek. 

It’s enough to make Sylvain’s heart stop right in his chest. He wraps his arms around Dimitri’s shoulders, pulling him closer. For once, this is all Sylvain wants: the warmth of Dimitri against him, chasing the taste of Dimitri against his lips. 

That is when Sylvain knows this: his love for Dimitri has its reward.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you to [luci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferTM/pseuds/luciferTM) for betaing!
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! please, please feel free to leave a comment—they mean a lot to me and keep me going! 
> 
> i very much enjoyed writing this kind of pseudo-analysis of the faerghus four and of glenn’s relationship with sylvain… TELL ME that glenn would not have fulfilled the older brother role for sylvain!! i wish this/the faerghus four’s complicated relationships and collective trauma had gotten more focus in-game but alas :(


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